


Reconstruction

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Abuse, Gen, Historical Hetalia, Murder, Personified States, Post-Civil War, Racism, Reconstruction era, Starvation, but it's not as bad as the tags make it sound I swear, people treating other people horribly, seriously there's a lot of racism this takes place in the 1860s
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 06:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9535814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The American Civil War is over. But just because it ended doesn't mean everything suddenly became happy and peaceful. The states were trying to kill each other just yesterday, but now they're limited to fake smiles and icy retorts. The North is trying to institute reforms that the South sees as an attack on their way of life. The West is largely ignored and left to fend for themselves in the lawlessness of the cowboy age. There were a dozen territories created before or during the war-- children born for a fight, but then the fight ended. The Union may be preserved, but the states are by no means united.





	1. Appomattox

It happened at Appomattox. 

They had them surrounded, with an army four times larger than theirs at the minimum. Everyone had already known it was over for a while now. But the Southerners had never been ones to go down without a fight.  

None of them were. 

They agreed to meet at a private home to discuss things. It was a more amiable environment. After all, this was to be an honorable affair, a gentleman’s surrender. 

They kept it small. Just the two generals, a few of the men directly under them, and the states-- thirteen of them. 

The Confederates were in bad shape. The humans were healthy enough, a little thinner, a little war-weary, but professional, composed. Resigned. 

Their states, however, were a trainwreck. The three of them wore smaller uniforms that _still_ hung off them. Their faces were long and gaunt. They were neat and clean enough-- extra effort put in to appear presentable-- but their eyes had a hollow, haunting exhaustion in them that seeped through their entire bodies and seemed to fill the room. 

Ten Yankee states filed in after their commanders and the Confederates rose to meet them. 

“Oh no, you don’t have to stand. There’s no need for such formalities; you look like you are about to fall over,” New Hampshire said. North Carolina moved to accept the offer, but Virginia halted her. 

“No, thank you. We prefer to stand,” she said. 

Massachusetts rolled her eyes and snapped open a sheet of parchment, beginning to read. “The United States of America is prepared to readmit all rebel states to the Union pending full compliance from this point forward. Confederate officers and soldiers will be allowed to keep all personal possessions, including horses and sidearms. In addition, they will not be prosecuted for treason. Does the Army of Northern Virginia, in representation of the full Confederacy and any and all other military forces under its command, accept these terms of surrender? Your unanimous answer please.” 

“Yes,” Virginia said dully. South Carolina’s eyes flashed, but she held her tongue. 

“Good. And now for the human part of it,” Massachusetts pocketed the parchment and turned on her heel. The states-- Confederate and Union alike-- left for the sitting room so the generals could discuss semantics. 

For the first time in years, they sat down together with no intent to harm. 

It was a tense room. 

“How is the baby?” Virginia asked. 

New York scoffed. “Which one? We almost have more territories than we do states anymore.” 

“You know which one,” she bit. 

“He’s fine. Not really a baby anymore. Mary’s watching him,” Pennsylvania answered. 

Maryland… Unacceptable. No. Not happening. “So, is Maryland watching the baby a one time thing? Is he always the one to do it...?” 

New Jersey responded joyfully, “Yes, actually. Maryland isn’t exactly fit for the battlefield, what with all the division from being a border state. Having a kid to take care of keeps his mind occupied. And the rest of us have been a bit busy.” 

“Kentucky and Missouri are border states as well. Either one of them could have done it.” 

“You really want _Missouri_ watching your little brother?” Jersey asked. 

“You do not get to object to our choice of babysitter. You do not get to object to anything,” New York said.  

“I object to your tone,” South Carolina said. “Just because we surrendered doesn’t mean we no longer have rights.” 

“You know longer have the right to enslave people,” Vermont said with fake cheer. 

“Actually, things will be a lot different from here on out. For a while, at least. We don’t want to go through this whole process all over again in a few years’ time. Measures are being taken to ensure nothing like this will ever happen again,” Massachusetts said. 

“What kind of measures?” North Carolina asked. 

There it was. That devious grin Mass got right before she did something that made you regret all your life choices. The states fortunate enough to never have been pinned under it themselves associated it with the Revolutionary era; those not so fortunate had their own, personal memories to fall back on. 

“All rebel territories have had their rights of statehood revoked. You no longer have a vote. You no longer have any congressional representatives. You no longer have any rights. You are no longer considered to be a state. You have gone back to territorial status. We’ve given quite a bit of your land away to freed slaves and the Freedmen’s Bureau, and this is only the beginning. You will recognize black men’s right to vote. You will pay off the frankly massive debt of the war. You will be militarily occupied until further notice. Each of you will be kept under constant guard by at least one armed Northern state,” she smirked, but it was more of a snarl. “In short, we’re going to deconstruct your way of life.” 

South Carolina lunged forward and was only held back by North Carolina’s grip on her belt. Mass barked a sharp, hollow laugh at the scene. 

“The only thing you can do at this point is make a fool out of yourself. At least hang on to your dignity,” North whispered. 

“You should be grateful. We’re being very merciful and frankly, too forgiving for my taste. You should have heard all of the suggested punishments that Lincoln talked us out of,” New York said, rubbing salt in the wound. 

They had always known that one was a snake. But they had never known how cruel he could be, even with Vermont and Delaware’s stories as testament. That was just how everyone behaved in the colonial era, right? 

It was hard to see the worst in people you had grown up with. The original thirteen colonies had never gotten along perfectly, but they couldn’t imagine life without each other after all these centuries. In the beginning, things had been a lot less chummy. 

But it had been so long since any of them went to war with another that they almost forgot what it was like. They forgot how cold it felt to look into another state’s eyes and see pure hatred. They forgot how much infinitely more it hurt to be killed by another personification’s hand rather than any other means. They forgot what it was like to kill someone dead only to have them come back to life and ask you why. 

Never before had any states fought on this large or brutal of a scale. Never before had they all been forced to choose a side. Never before had destruction and violence been this widespread, hanging heavy and thick in the air, polluting, choking out everything else in its path. “The fog of war” was more than just gunsmoke. 

“Why didn’t America come here? We surrendered, after all; you’d think he’d want to personally welcome us back into the nation,” North Carolina asked. Shouldn’t he be here to gloat, at least? Ask them if they’d learned their lesson yet? Make some comment about the baby just to get Virginia to flinch? 

“He didn’t want to see any of you,” Pennsylvania said. 

“Couldn’t bear to look us in the eyes after what he did to Georgia?” North asked. 

“Or maybe he just hates your guts and can’t stand to be around you,” Penn said. 

“Then why did he fight an entire goddamn war to keep us from leaving?” she asked. 

Penn’s eyes sparked. “Obligation,” she choked out, as if the word were poison in her mouth. “Moral duty. Don’t think for a single second that any of us care about you at all. It is unbiblical and un-American to tolerate the rise of a government built on hate and enslavement.” 

“Is that the logic you use to convince yourself that God is okay with all you’ve done?” Virginia asked. “Let me guess, does ‘thou shalt not kill’ only applies to people you have judged as bad? Does the Lord not ‘hate the one practicing violence’ if he has a really, really good reason this time? How long are you going to keep pretending that you are some oasis of moral purity and pacifism? Because I have never met a pacifist who got as much genuine enjoyment from spilling blood as you do.” 

Pennsylvania recoiled as if slapped. During the war, she had been a bulldog of a fighter and a powerhouse of a state—the closest thing the Union had to a counter to Virginia, though no one could truly compare. 

Virginia shook her head. “You have no right to criticize me, you hypocrite.” 

“She did what she had to do,” said Delaware. “Helping stop the war as quickly as possible would prevent more violence in the long run.” 

“It’s one thing to fight,” she said, “it’s another thing to love it.” 

“We don’t have to listen to this,” New York said. “I don’t think Mass made it clear just how few rights you have anymore. You went to war against your own country and now you’re paying the price. You, as Southerners, have only the right to do whatever we, as Northerners, tell you to do. Nothing more and nothing less. Now, us Northerners are gonna discuss what we plan to do with you in the future. And there is no reason for you to be included in the discussion, so Maine and New Jersey will be showing you to your room now.” 

New Jersey frowned a bit at the unexpected order, but nevertheless, the two states got up and led the three Confederates away. 

They were shown to a generic, windowless guest room that was plainly furnished. 

“You can’t expect us to fit three adults on one narrow bed,” South Carolina protested. 

Maine shrugged. There were a lot of people staying there and only so many guest rooms. They got the short end of the stick. 

North Carolina bit her lip, careful about how she worded this. She wanted it to sound like a mere question of scheduling. “What time should we be ready for dinner by?” 

“There won’t be any dinner tonight,” Maine said. 

She was determined to keep her voice calm. “Why?” 

“There’s not enough supplies to feed this many people. Not well, anyway. And there’s no one around to make it.” 

“Can’t you just have a slave—“ she trailed off. No. The Northerners would not be making use of any slaves. Most military men barely knew how to prepare their rations on their own, and it would be bad form to have a state cook. They were important representatives; they couldn’t be seen doing servant work. Not at a formal affair such as this. 

“I know you probably won’t try it, but just in case you really are that stupid, I’ll remind you: please don’t try escaping. I am not in the mood for all that hassle tonight, and it would be boring as hell guarding you afterwards. Plus the failure would be embarrassing for you guys. I’m worried about you, ya know? I think you might just die if your pride takes too many more blows,” New Jersey said. 

South Carolina slammed the door shut without giving them a chance to move, coming mere millimeters from giving Jersey a concussion with the heavy oak. 

Virginia slumped to the floor with a shuddering breath. North Carolina was at her side in an instant. 

“You’re such an idiot! Why would you insist on standing? You’re lucky you didn’t faint!” 

“If I sat down, they would see how exhausted I am. We can’t show them any weakness. That’s our ace in the hole, girls: they have to believe we’re strong enough to protest any mistreatment. Otherwise we’ll get walked all over,” she winced and put a hand on her chest, face contorting in pain. “I think I reopened it.” 

North attempted to lift her and carry her to the bed, while Virginia struggled to stand and make it there on her own. They ended up in a messy tangle of limbs, collapsing a few feet away, Virginia actually crying out as she hit the ground this time. 

After a few more moments of awkwardness, Virginia was on the bed with a growing bloodstain spreading across the chest of her uniform, just off center to the left. “Great,” she muttered. 

She began rapidly removing layers of clothing, grimacing when she saw the state of her injury. South Carolina gasped. 

There was a narrow yet deep wound right above her heart, where it had been pierced with surgical accuracy. A clean stab in and out, highly efficient. The bandages wound around her chest almost looked like they were doing more harm than good, soaked through with blood, both old and new. Virginia carefully peeled them off, wincing as it drew more blood out of the wound. 

Of course South Carolina had realized she must have an injury there. She just hadn’t imagined what it must be like. She certainly hadn’t expected it to go all the way through her heart, as it clearly must, by the looks of it. She was almost surprised there wasn’t a corresponding injury out her back. 

Looking at her now, she realized just how bad off their general was. Every inch of skin that she could see was discolored. She was ghastly and emaciated, every rib prominent, even the organs in her stomach seemed to be protruding. Her usually sharp and icy blue eyes looked dull and had huge dark bags under them. The stab to her heart was far from her only injury; it was merely the most horrific. 

She was skin and bones, walking around like death warmed over. Their ever-strong and fearless leader. 

North Carolina was getting new bandages out of her supply pack, following the routine she was getting horribly used to. 

“We’re all gonna die,” South Carolina said, not realizing or caring that she was speaking aloud. 

“South!” North reprimanded. 

“No, don’t you get it?! We surrendered! We lost, we failed, we couldn’t sustain our own nation and we got reconquered. We aren’t even states anymore! Oh God, we’re gonna be dissolved!” 

“No one is getting dissolved,” Virginia said. 

“But that’s what America does to rebel territories! That’s what happens to the ones there is no room for! Territories only make it to statehood about half the time. And those are the ones that start out with a clean slate!” 

“They have no reason to kill us at this point,” North Carolina said weakly. 

“That’s right,” said Virginia. “That’s why they never gave up with this war, right? Why they didn’t just let us be independent? America has never lost a state, and he’s not about to start. That… that nosy imperialist would never let us die. It would make him look weak.” 

It was a see-through thin argument. 

It was true that America never lost a state. 

But they weren’t states anymore. 

And territories die all the time. 


	2. Train Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to split the notes because I went over the character limit.
> 
> Historical notes: The home the surrender negotiations took place in was owned by Wilmer McLean. In reality, they were out of there before nightfall, but it would be easier to guard people without having to move them around to a war camp and instead keep them in a secure room with actual walls, so I took some creative liberty. 
> 
> Trains were a very big deal during the Civil War, but there was a huge discrepancy between how the North engineered them and how the South engineered them. Southern rails were very primitive in design and sometimes pieces of them would just shoot up and tear through the bottom of the train car. They called them “snakeheads.” 
> 
> The general consensus on both sides was that prison camps were somehow worse than the war itself. Fort Pulaski was actually really nice in comparison to some others. Its description is based on actual photos, and the people there really were served that stuff, supplementing their diet with rats and cats. Though in reality, the cornmeal was probably always moldy. Those arched doorway-type things under the rampart were called casemates, and that’s where they had to sleep. Though occasionally they were thrown into the magazine for what was called “dark confinement.” 
> 
> Southern prison camps were, on average, worse than Northern ones. Andersonville was notoriously awful, and Belle Isle is actually horrifying to even read about. It drove most men there insane. Confederate POW camps were so horrendous that the Union became convinced they were deliberately trying to weaken and kill off their troops, so the people demanded that conditions in Northern camps be kept just as bad. That’s why Fort Pulaski prisoners were intentionally starved despite there being no shortages. Some of them ended up dying of starvation, scurvy, and dysentery. 
> 
> There was a group of prisoners at Fort Pulaski for a while known reverently throughout the South as “the Immortal 600” because they refused to take an oath of allegiance to the United States despite the conditions they endured. This actually wasn’t due to willpower or loyalty to the Confederate States. They just weren’t given the option to take the oath of allegiance. 
> 
> Prisoner exchanges between both sides were shut down in 1864 when the Confederacy refused to treat the Union’s black soldiers as equal to their white soldiers. They claimed that they were probably former slaves and therefore didn’t belong to the Union in the first place—they belonged to their former masters. The Union refused to give on this point and shut down exchanges because they couldn’t come to an agreement. Then they realized this gave them a tactical advantage as well. The South needed all the manpower it could get right then, whereas the North never had any shortage of soldiers.

Rhode Island banged on the door to the Confederates’ guest room. “Are you guys up yet? We’re moving out in ten minutes!” 

A thud. A curse. Frantic shuffling. The door was flung open by a disheveled North Carolina. 

_“What?”_ she asked. 

“Are you just now waking up?” he asked, incredulous. “It’s nine in the morning!” 

North Carolina rubbed her temple. Rhodey’s voice was grating this early in the morning. “We’ve had a rough week, okay?” 

He peered into the room behind her. “Did none of you sleep on the bed?” 

“There was only room for one person on it, and all of us tried to out-polite each other and offer it to someone else. Then they both were too stubborn to just sleep in the damn bed, and _I_ sure wasn’t gonna…” she trailed off, shaking her head. “It turned into a big argument and then we all slept on the floor out of spite.” 

Rhode Island looked at her as if she had just told him the Earth was flat. “This is why you guys lost the war.” 

He moved on, going about his own preparations. The hall was buzzing with states and soldiers packing up and moving around. As she gradually began to wake up, the realization of what he had said hit her. 

Ten minutes. 

She cursed and whirled back into the room, sloppily folding clothes and blankets before stuffing them into her pack. 

“The troops are moving out in under ten minutes,” she said tersely. 

South Carolina and Virginia immediately shook off the last remnants of sleep and hurriedly got dressed. They were used to fast orders to move after just waking up. Usually it was due to a battle or newly unsecure position, though, not just oversleeping. 

But God, it had been years since they’d had the privilege of sleeping in. 

They made it out to the parlor room not five minutes later. Several of the Northerners were thanking McLean for his hospitality. The generals were conferring quietly, soldiers sparing them glances as they loaded up the horses. 

And like that, they were out the door and ushered onto a train. The thirteen states got their own car and everything—a rattly, empty box with worn wood floors and some straw whisking around. 

“Once we arrive, you can explain the situation to the other states and then we’ll have the official surrender ceremony. We’re going to come up with a plan for a reconstruction and military districting, split you all up, ship everybody out, and then the real work begins,” New Jersey said. 

“So we’re going to DC?” Virginia asked. 

“No. Fort Pulaski,” New York said. 

A chill crept up the Southerners’ spines. Stories of that place were infamous in the Confederacy, stories of the Immortal 600. Admittedly, it was one of the nicer prisons, but still not a place where people were treated humanely. 

“The war is over,” North Carolina said. 

“Yeah, but we’re not ready to discontinue the all prison camps quite yet. Especially Fort Pulaski. It has quite a few high-profile inmates,” Massachusetts said. 

“You’ve been keeping the other states there,” she said dully. Then the outrage finally caught up with her. “You _monsters!_ How sick do you have to be to treat people like that?! You’re even _related_ to most those states! They’re your kin, you bastards, you don’t starve your own flesh and blood!” 

“We aren’t starving them. They are being fed,” Massachusetts said. 

“It’s called a retaliation ration, sweetheart,” New York said. “What you do to ours, we do to yours. If you don’t like it, well, you shoulda thought of that before you killed so many prisoners of war.” 

“You can’t punish us for having shortages! That’s unfair!” 

“Unfair? _Unfair?!”_ Vermont said. “No, ‘unfair’ was you refusing to treat black soldiers as white soldiers and throwing such a fit, you shut the exchange system down!” 

“It wasn’t us who shut it down! Y’all stopped allowing them, because apparently you would rather have your soldiers rot away in prison rather than just follow some simple rules,” North said. 

“Simple r—“ 

“We had an agreement to exchange prisoners of equal worth. There was a system in place. One Yankee soldier was worth one Confederate soldier of the same rank. One colonel was worth fifteen privates. But you can’t expect us to pretend that black people are worth as much as white people,” Virginia said. 

“Oh my God, do you even hear yourself right now?!” Vermont asked. “How can you say that when some of your own states are black? _South Carolina_ is black, and she’s sitting right there!” 

“It doesn’t matter who is present when all I am saying is a statement of fact,” Virginia said coldly. 

Vermont felt like screaming out of frustration. “How could you possibly support a war backed by this sort of ideology?” she turned to South Carolina, hoping she would have some semblance of rationality. 

“How could I _not_ support the War of Northern Aggression? I was the one who started it, if you remember,” her eyes were burning fire. “We allowed you all to push us around for far too long. The North has been constantly stealing power and rights away from us since the get-go. Southern plantations are what kept this country afloat all these years, but now that you Northerners have industrialized, you think you don’t need us anymore and you can tell us what to do! And don’t think we didn’t notice America’s blatant favoritism. And then it was never enough for you; you started trying to change us, make us more like you, destroy our way of life. With our economies weakened enough, there’s a good chance we might actually dissolve. Abolition would kill two birds with one stone, and also all the Southerners.” 

“Our goal was never to make you guys dissolve. We were never trying to murder you,” New Hampshire said. 

South Carolina’s jaw dropped. “Yeah? Tell that to Georgia.” 

“What happened to Georgia was necessary,” New York said. “Could you honestly tell me you would have surrendered as fast otherwise?” 

“You make it sound like we a had a choice in the matter,” Virginia said. At some point, she had draped an arm over South’s shoulders, proud, possessive. She had passed the test. She could shut down the Yankees’ drivel even when they tried to make it personal. A tried and true Confederate if there ever was one, and that wouldn’t change just because the war was over. 

“Are you seriously telling me you wouldn’t have if you hadn’t been surrounded? You would have kept trying to fight with that pathetically small army, out of rations for a while now, already on the retreat, and with Sherman moving into South Carolina so soon she could suffer the same fate Georgia did?” New Jersey asked. 

“I knew it!” North Carolina leapt up. “You _knew_ we were out of rations! You _know_ we’ve been starving. Skipping dinner last night, letting us sleep through breakfast this morning, it was intentional. You have been intentionally denying food to starving people.” 

Massachusetts rolled her eyes. “It was two more meals, you drama queen. It won’t kill you.” 

“You can’t just treat us that way. We have rights,” North Carolina said. 

Massachusetts looked her dead in the eye. “No you don’t.” 

Nobody had anything else they could say after that, and the boxcar lapsed into strained silence, with only the sound of the engine and the train clipping along across the tracks. 

They were moving at a sedate 20 miles an hour, which was pretty good for a Southern-built steam engine. There was quite a gap in technological innovation across the Mason-Dixon. In the North, trains could go 60 in sprint runs between cities, and 40-50 on longer routes. The engineering was entirely different. 

They would reach the station after a little more than 24 hours on the rail, and walk the rest the distance to the fort. 

It was a tense and unending 24 hours. No one spoke except for the occasional biting insult whenever they got in each other’s way. With thirteen states crammed into one train car, there wasn’t much excess room, and it was hard to move around without tripping over each other. 

Finally, the train began to slow and ground to a halt. The states were out of the boxcar before it was even fully stopped, stretching and taking in the fresh spring air. It was warm down in Georgia. It felt great to have real earth beneath their feet and not feel the constant movement of the boxcar. It had almost been enough to make Connecticut hurl at one point. 

A unit of soldiers unloaded from an adjacent boxcar and they began the march to Fort Pulaski. The soldiers subtly encircled the states—protecting the Northerners, keeping watch on the Southerners. 

Fort Pulaski was on an island at the mouth of the Savannah River. The fort itself was surrounded by a moat, then a brick wall with dirt raised to the top of it, creating an earth terrace on which cannons and small buildings lay, and then another brick wall. There was only one way in or out. 

The island was dotted with palm trees and the red brick architecture was almost elegant. It was a pretty place. It was hard to imagine horror stories of Northern prison brutality happening here. It’s said the camps are worse than the battles themselves, but this island seemed removed from the war entirely. 

They rounded the bend in the only path across the moat and the destruction of the ramparts came into view. The side of the fort was littered with massive holes from rifled cannons—a Northern invention that combined the accuracy and distance of a rifle with the sheer destructive force of a cannon. The hits were along the corner of the fort, arguably its strongest point, but that was also where they knew the magazine would be. Suddenly it became clear how a fort down in Georgia came to be under Union control. They had been about to blow up everything and everyone inside had it not been surrendered. 

They were led through arching doorways out onto the green, where the other states were waiting to meet them. Everyone was there except for the far west and the territories—save Arizona. The crowd seemed much more relaxed and friendly than the eastern armies were. Some of them were even talking to each other in a way that didn’t sound threatening. 

But then, they were in a very different situation. Only the states in the Army of the Cumberland were armed—Ohio, Indiana, and Michigan. The other loyal Union states had done their own thing in the war, and they were here now to be kept in the loop, but the responsibility of guarding did not fall on their shoulders. 

It was a miracle none of the Confederates had escaped. Privately, the states had nicknamed that particular force the Army of Preteens. Indiana and Michigan were 12, and Ohio was the oldest at a whopping 13. 

Thank God for human soldiers. 

Virginia’s eyes darted over them all frantically. “Where’s the baby? Who’s watching West Virginia?” 

“He’s sleeping right now,” Maryland answered. 

“When can I see him?” 

“Never. We don’t want you corrupting him,” he said. “And it serves you right for kidnapping Arizona. An eye for an eye, a kid for a kid.” 

Seeing the look on her face, Kentucky reassured, “He’s lying. You’ll be able to see West in a few years, if you behave.” 

A few years. 

North Carolina ran and threw her arms around Tennessee, pulling her little sister close. “I was so worried about you,” she said. “Are you okay? Have they been feeding you?” 

“Yeah, but not well. Every day we get a half-pint of soured onion pickles and ten ounces of cornmeal. The cornmeal is usually moldy. It’s not so bad though. Sometimes we catch rats and eat those too. One time Texas even killed a stray cat for us all to share.” 

North Carolina hugged her tighter, frowning when she realized she could feel her bones beneath the raggedy uniform. 

“What are you all doing here?” Mississippi asked, a fearful suspicion creeping into her mind. But that was just a rumor the guards were spreading. It couldn’t be true. 

“Why don’t we have Virginia explain that one?” New York smiled. 

She glared at him. All attention came to focus on her, curious faces looking for answers. Some of them were so young. They all looked so thin. 

Face burning, she ground out, “The war is over. The Confederacy has been defeated. All states that seceded have been reabsorbed into the Union. The United States has conquered us.” 

_“Re-_ conquered,” Pennsylvania said. She had gone quiet since the first meeting at Appomattox, but seemed to grow bolder again once inside the prison. 

“It’s over?” Alabama asked in that squeaky, high-pitched voice not yet beginning to change. “And we aren’t our own nation anymore?” 

“No, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” 

“This is a good thing,” Massachusetts said. “The nation you’re in now is a better one.” 

“Or a stronger one, at least. But that’s how it always works, isn’t it?” Louisiana asked. 

“Anyway,” Connecticut said. “We thought we’d give you some time to catch up with each other while we work out a plan of action. Sound good?” 

“That’s… considerate of you,” Louisiana said. 

“We can be decent human beings occasionally. Shocking, I know,” said Rhode Island. 

The Northerners excused themselves to a meeting room, leaving the Southerners alone on the green. There would be no breaking out of the camp, of course; alone didn’t mean unsecured. 

Alabama tugged on South Carolina’s sleeve. “Where’s Georgia?” 

“She… uh…” South looked pleadingly towards her twin. 

“Georgia’s at home getting some rest,” North Carolina said. “Hey, speaking of which, where’s America? You’d think the end of a major war would be enough to make him show his face.” 

“He’s back in DC. Lincoln ordered him to take some time off, said he needed it. Apparently he’s off gallivanting around the capital; fishing, hunting, going to go see some play with the president,” Texas said. 

“Figures. Even after all this, we still aren’t worth his time,” South Carolina said. 

“What’s gonna happen to us?” Arkansas asked. The other eleven-year-old in the group. 

“Well, the Northerners are going to divide us up into small groups and take us back home. Some of them will come with us. They’re going to make some rules that we have to follow. If all goes well, things will be back to normal in a year or so and we can see each other freely again,” North Carolina said. 

“So until then, we won’t get to see each other?” Arkansas asked. 

“I’m… sure we’ll see each other occasionally. But they don’t trust us. They won’t want to give us the chance to conspire against them until they’re sure we won’t.” 

“Better to be feared even in defeat than to go down without a fight,” Virginia said. “We certainly gave them a run for their money. Remember, men: we invaded the United States and lived to tell the tale. Is their fear not a testament to our power? We are starving, bedraggled, many of us gravely injured; and yet they create safeguard after safeguard. They think, even when surrounded by armed guards, us just being near each other would be enough to reignite the war and reassert our rightful independence. People do not fear the weak. In the Bible, there is a reason ‘fear’ is used in the same sense as ‘respect’.” 

“The South will rise again,” Mississippi said, awed. 

Alabama had not been paying attention to Virginia’s speech, as he rarely did, but then something clicked in his head. “I don’t wanna be stuck with just boring big kids for a whole year! You better be in the same district as me, Miss’ippi!” 

“Ew, no, why would I want to? You have cooties. Everyone knows this!” 

Alabama gasped. “I do not!” 

“Arkansas, does Alabama have cooties?” Mississippi asked. Arkansas nodded solemnly. 

Alabama scowled, face turning red. “Fine! I’ll just give you cooties too!” 

Mississippi squealed and ran away, thus beginning a game of tag that eventually roped in Arkansas and Tennessee as well. 

“Was what you said the truth?” Texas asked. 

“A year is… a generous estimate,” North Carolina said. “We’re looking at closer to a decade.” 

Louisiana watched the younger states. This would be their last game of tag for a very long time. “Give us the rest of the bad news.” 

“America killed Georgia. We had to leave her behind with her people. She was still dead last time we saw her. I’m not sure if she can regenerate from this one. It was a vicious attack on both her body and her land,” Virginia said. “There is a very real possibility that she will be dissolved and replaced by a new personification.” 

“Or not,” said North Carolina. “We have all been formally stripped of our statehood. She’s just a territory now. We all are.” 

Florida cursed, running a hand through his hair. “I knew this war was a bad idea!” 

“No one forced you to join,” South Carolina said.  

“Don’t even speak to me. You’re the one who started this whole mess in the first place.” 

“If I hadn’t been the first to secede, then someone else would have. It just didn’t occur to you all that that was an option. If it had, someone else would have started this war far sooner than I did. Don’t act like you’re all entirely innocent,” she said. “I was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. We’ve been heading in this direction for _decades_. Sometimes I think we always were. This war was inevitable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I made South Carolina black. She is not the only black state either: Delaware, Georgia, Mississippi, and Louisiana are as well. The Dakotas, Oklahoma, and Alaska are Native American. Florida and Texas are Latino. Arizona and New Mexico are mixed race Latina and Native American, specifically Navajo. California is mixed race Latina and Asian American, specifically Chinese. I based the states’ races on demographics, not what would be easiest to write. Sure, it would be easy to whitewash every single Southern personification to “””justify””” the Civil War, but that would be ignoring what the majority population of the state was actually like. At this point in time, enslaved black people far outnumbered free white people in SC, which was the blackest state in the Union (though now that’s Mississippi). That’s why their government was so afraid of abolition. They didn’t see how it was possible that black people wouldn’t want revenge if they got the chance, and were certain abolition would start a race. 
> 
> And the white male politicians, in their infinite wisdom, decided the clear solution was to start their own war before Those Violent Black People ™ got the chance to. 
> 
> I’m definitely going to get more into each of the black Confederate’s mentality and individual reasons for fighting; trust me, they are much more in-depth than that propaganda South Carolina was spouting. They each have a twisted personal history with the war and their bosses and the politics of the time. I’m not gonna gloss it over; I’ll get into it later. 
> 
> The thing that happened to Georgia was called Sherman’s March to the Sea. The US razed through the Confederacy, essentially inventing total war waged against civilians, attempting to break the people’s spirit and destroy everything in their path. It got increasingly brutal as it dragged on, and after they finished with Georgia, Sherman moved in on South Carolina but didn’t get very far before the war ended. 
> 
> I tried to make the states’ aging as reasonable as possible. In perspective, England took centuries to age beyond six years old. I decided to make the states go a little bit faster. A state may be sixty odd years old and appear twelve, twenty years old and appear four. Not all of them aged at exactly the same rate though; circumstance did push some to grow up even faster. 
> 
> I headcanon that Alfred was sixteen during the Civil War, which was enough to age him up to seventeen by its end. I also say he was born in 1643 with the Confederation of New England, which was the first time Americans thought of themselves as being a united group rather than just colonies that happened to be in the same empire. Like, there was no sense of unity between India and Canada. And before that, there was no sense of unity between any American colonies, so I don’t think he would have any reason for him to exist before then. 
> 
> This makes him younger than all of the original thirteen colonies except for Pennsylvania and Georgia. The states came before the nation they make up.


	3. Drawing Lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this is a boring chapter, and it's mostly just setting the stage for what will come next, but of well.

“Alright,” Pennsylvania lit a kerosene lantern, setting it on the table as the states took their seats. “We need to come up with a real plan now. What are we _actually_ going to do?” 

“The South must be punished,” New Hampshire said. “Confederate leaders and soldiers should be tried for treason. We need to scrap their state governments entirely and start fresh. There’s going to need to be very strict and clear federal rules about how black people are to be treated. Otherwise they won’t change a single thing.” 

“I agree,” Connecticut said. “No politician who voted for secession should be allowed to run for office again. We cannot allow the Confederate leaders to come back to power. Plus, what sort of message would that send?” 

“We need radical reconstruction. The South needs to be completely torn down and remade in our image. Their whole way of life must go. Everything has to be changed completely in order for real progress to be made. We should dissolve all rebel territories and make new ones in their place. _That’s_ how we make the New South different from the Old South,” Massachusetts folded her arms. 

“Dissolve?” Michigan asked, eyes wide. “Doesn’t that mean kill?” 

“Execution is the punishment for treason, yes.” 

“I know the Confederates were mean, but they couldn’t have been all bad…” Illinois said. 

“Confederates came into my home, beat me, and stole all of my money,” Vermont said, green eyes practically glowing. 

“You’re just saying that,” Wisconsin accused. 

“No I’m not! Some of those cowards escaped from a prison camp, ran away to Canada, then snuck back across the border, shot up a town, robbed three of my banks—“ 

“’Mean’? The Confederates weren’t ‘mean’. They were evil, lying, villainous scum of the earth,” Massachusetts said. “They deserve everything that’s coming to them.” 

“And for once, I agree with you, Mass, I really do,” New York said. “But politics isn’t always about what’s right. You have to think logically about how best to get to a long-term solution. Dissolving those states would make their people even angrier than they’re already going to be. It would cause immense, unnecessary unrest that we should be working to minimize. Let them get angry over the changes that really matter. Let’s not go adding all this other stuff on top of it.” 

“The war is over. We need to work towards peace. That should be our primary goal,” Pennsylvania said. 

“Are you seriously telling me that after all this, we’re just going to give them their statehood back?” Massachusetts asked. 

“No, of course not. They have to earn it. Being a state is a privilege, not a right, and they seem to have forgotten that,” New York said. 

“If we try to make them work for it, some of them are going to refuse. They don’t even want this in the first place,” New Jersey said. 

“Well if they refuse, can’t we just make their lives hell?” Ohio asked. 

“Language!” Mass snapped. 

“Puritan,” Connecticut rolled his eyes. 

“Hey, Ohio made a good point,” Indiana said. It was a pretty big concern that the ideas and opinions of younger states might be dismissed because of their youth. They were still states. They still deserved to be heard. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that was a good point. So how can we make the Southerners’ lives even more hellish than the current plan?” New York asked. 

“We could take away all their candy,” Minnesota said from the far end of the table. The other states had forgotten she was there. The little blonde five-year-old sat swinging her legs, head barely above the table. 

“We’ll consider it,” Delaware said. “Any other suggestions?” 

“We should make it personal,” Illinois said. “That way their people get rewarded for coming around and following the rules, and the states themselves get punished for not.” 

“Carrot and stick,” Maine said approvingly. 

Pennsylvania drummed her fingers. Somewhere, someone was tapping their foot. 

“We could… make them run laps,” Wisconsin suggested. “I never liked it when I had to do training drills.” 

“Well, so far we’ve been withholding food, and that seems to be working pretty well as far as a punishment goes,” Rhode Island said. 

“That’s unsustainable though. We’re trying to rebuild, not weaken them further,” New Jersey said. 

“Um, here they’ve been using this thing called dark confinement,” Michigan said. “It’s like crossing solitary confinement with sensory deprivation. It’s not as bad as it sounds though.” 

“I love it,” Vermont said. 

“Hey, yeah, there’s an idea,” Massachusetts said. “So execution is off the table, but what about some mild forms of torture?” 

“YOU CAN’T DO THAT TO US!” Kentucky leapt out of his seat, slamming his fists on the table. His eyes were saucers, breaths coming out fast and shallow. 

The room halted. 

Kentucky was a lanky fourteen-year-old rapidly approaching six feet tall, with a dirty blond ponytail and ears, hands, and feet that he had yet to grow into. He was also a border state. 

Border states sometimes have outbursts. They’re usually manageable enough. Some days they’re Confederate, some days they’re Union, the states have learned to watch their step around them. Maryland had more good days than most, but still, keeping an eye out on him was an extra burden they didn’t need, and _someone_ needed to watch West Virginia. Plus, no matter what sort of day it was, a border state wouldn’t attack another border state. It was perfect. 

Missouri had been with the Confederates for most of the war, until one day he approached Union troops and willingly surrendered. Apparently he had been having a Union day, with no one around to watch him, and then heard of some Northern troops nearby and went to them. 

Kentucky had served in the Army of the Cumberland. Part-time. Every night, he would let the other kids handcuff him to his bed and in the morning, they would ask him if today was going to be a Union day or a Confederacy day. He wasn’t that great an actor, so most of the time it was easy to tell. 

Most of the time. There had been a couple of bad scares when he did manage to trick them on a Confederacy day. 

“I think that’s enough for today,” Maine said. “Let’s adjourn the meeting.” 

Pennsylvania nodded. “It would be better to continue this when America’s here anyway. We need his input.” 

“When’s he supposed to arrive anyhow?” Indiana asked. 

“The fifteenth. Four days from now,” Delaware said. 

“Alright. We’ll discuss this further then,” New York said, standing up. “Until then, let’s just keep things calm and hold down the fort. Get along with each other. We have a long road ahead of us. I trust we can all do that, right? Keep the peace for four measly days? It’s simple.” 

“Don’t anybody blow it,” New Jersey muttered. 

* * *

 

“What happened to letting us keep our firearms?” South Carolina grumbled. 

“They meant firearms not issued by our military. We get to keep our _right_ to a firearm,” North responded. 

The two sides were lined up in rows facing each other, decked out in full military wear, an American flag flying high over the Northerners and a Confederate flag over the Southerners. 

They had been woken up in the casemates before dawn, fed a military half-ration for breakfast, and escorted out onto the green for the ceremonial surrender. 

The sun was just breaking over the rampart but it did nothing to lighten the mood. 

The Confederates unhooked their flag and folded it up, laying it on a table with great care. One by one, each of them came forward and added their rifle to the stack, then signed an oath of allegiance to the United States. 

“Aaand that concludes it. Thank you,” Delaware smiled, taking the final document from Texas’s hands. 

“Now was that really so hard?” Pennsylvania asked.  

“Screw you,” he growled. 

“Tsk tsk. Let’s be civil,” Mass said. 

“We can’t have you wearing Confederate uniforms anymore. I’m sure you understand why. There are civilian clothes in the storeroom,” New Hampshire said. 

“Look on the bright side,” New York leered as they filed past, “now you’ll never have to wear those dingy, tattered uniforms ever again. Gotta be happy about that, right?” 

“Bite me,” South Carolina said. 

* * *

 

There was shouting and commotion at the entrance to the fort. Guards and soldiers began racing to help. The states quickly alerted each other, grabbing various weapons before running to see what was going on. 

The guards were trying to hold back and calm a rearing mustang. Its rider had already been pulled off and restrained, thrashing and shouting at the guards in Spanish. 

“New Mexico?” Wisconsin asked. 

“Relax! Release her, she’s one of us,” New York ordered. 

The humans let go instantly, and New Mexico dusted herself off, sparing them all a glare. “Lovely welcoming committee you’ve got. I was worried they were gonna hurt the kids.” 

She had two babies strapped to her back in separate sacks, and a little girl no more than four holding her hand. The babies had clearly taken to playing with her long braid on the way over. One of them was teething it, and New Mexico either didn’t notice or had given up trying to prevent it. 

“No offense, but what the hell are you doing here?” New York asked. 

“California showed me her invitation. What, did you easterners think you could just have a meeting to decide the future without me?” She put her hands on her hips. “Do you have any idea what the situation out West is like right now? Or did you forget we exist again?” 

“Let’s get you settled in before we get into all that. You must be exhausted. Did you ride all the way here?” Maryland asked.  

“No, only the first and last leg of the journey,” she said. 

The baby territories were summarily lifted out of their pouches and cooed at by a number of states, along with the little girl. 

“Whew! Let’s get these guys into a bath,” New Jersey said. It was very clear they had been on the road for a while. Their clothes were rumpled and stunk of sweat, their hair unkempt and in all directions, they were even covered in a fine layer of dust kicked up by the horse’s hooves. 

“What are their names?” Vermont asked. 

“That’s Faith, and the twins are Hinto and Mahkah.” 

“No, I mean, what lands do they represent?” 

New Mexico’s expression turned into one of pure disgust. _“That’s_ why I needed to come here.” 

“Nuevo, be reasonable. You can’t honestly expect us to be familiar with every single territory. There are so many of them,” Rhode Island said.  

“That’s exactly the problem,” she said. 

* * *

 

“The U.S. currently has twelve personifications under the age of ten,” New Mexico said, marking them out on a map later that evening. 

“Don’t you mean eleven? There’s Minnesota and Nevada, and we only have nine territories, right?” New Hampshire asked. 

“The Dakota territory has two personifications. I’m not certain, but I think they’re for east and west. They’re the twins I brought with me.” 

“Oh.” 

New Mexico sighed. “Ten of these personifications are territories. All of them are Western. You see how lopsided the map is?” 

“So?” 

“So, who do you think is taking care of all these kids?!” she asked. “All the other adults are back east. There are so few older states out west that we have to leave kids as young as ten to fend for themselves because we simply can’t watch out for all of them. Oregon is twelve, and right now he’s taking care of three territories until I get back. One of them is only four months old. This war created an explosion of new territories with no plan in place for how to deal with them, and I am asking you to do something!” 

It was an awkward silence. 

“Alright,” New York took the quill and began marking up a different section of the map. “There are currently thirty-six states. Eleven of them need reconstruction. Split the difference, that means there are twenty-five states available to do work. Four of them are border states and therefore unreliable, so that number becomes twenty-one. Kansas doesn’t have a personification, Minnesota is five, and Nevahda is one—“ 

“He’s five, and it’s pronounced Nev-add-uh.” 

“He’s five already? How?” Delaware asked. 

“Trial by fire. He grew up fast. And it didn’t hurt to have his statehood rushed through before he was ready,” New Mexico said. 

“Anyway, now the number is down to eighteen. Eleven states are up for reconstruction, that divides almost evenly into five districts, each district will need two to three guards depending on the security level. So that’s another ten to fifteen states, which leaves a minimum of three states available to help you.” 

“They have to be at least sixteen,” New Mexico said. “I don’t want to be sent even more kids. That’s my one rule. I don’t care which of you wants what job; I need at least three older states to come help me out. I didn’t sign up to be nanny to the whole Union, and I’m certainly not gonna do all the work alone.” 

“That can be arranged,” Massachusetts said. 

“Good, then let’s arrange it,” she said. “If we’re gonna have at least six people working on this, then we can afford to put someone on the ten- and eleven-year-olds too. So that’s five more personifications. Seventeen kids.” 

“No,” New York said. “You counted Arkansas and Alabama twice. They’re undergoing reconstruction. Their guards can look after them. It’s fifteen kids.” 

“Fifteen unsupervised kids,” New Mexico said. “Anyone watching Idaho or Montana shouldn’t be taking care of anyone else. They’re both under a year old.” 

She drew lines around each territory, sectioning the map off. 

“The Dakotas have started their terrible twos a year early and separating them only makes them throw even more tantrums.” She circled the combined territory. “I’ll be taking Arizona and Colorado.” An hourglass shape looped around them. “Oregon will want Washington and Idaho, they’re his siblings… California is closest to Nevada and Utah. She can suck it up, it’s what makes the most sense.” 

“We can pair these two together, they’re close to each other,” New Jersey pointed to two territories on the map. 

“That’s Nebraska and Oklahoma.” New Mexico marked it down. 

“And that just leaves Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Iowa,” Pennsylvania said. “Eugh. I pity the person who gets stuck with those three.” 

“So that’s five unassigned groups,” she said. “Three other people isn’t going to cut it. The West needs at least five more at the bare minimum.” 

“And you will get that help, I promise,” Massachusetts said. “We aren’t ignoring the West. Things have just been a bit busy lately, that’s all. There was a war.” 

“I know. I fought in it.” Understatement of the year, in her opinion. She had been the sole reason the West hadn’t fallen to the Confederacy. And she still managed to find time for the territories. 

Why the east hadn’t granted her her statehood yet was a total mystery. She wasn’t going anywhere, and she had more than proved her worth. She had met every goalpost they had thrown at her and then some. Other territories had come and gone, being born and getting statehood, while she was kept in place, never allowed to advance. 

Though maybe it wasn’t such a mystery, she thought, looking down at the obvious brownness of her skin, noting how much lighter all the states she was talking to were. The states whose votes decided that sort of thing. Maybe her English wasn’t quite perfect yet, maybe she still had something of an accent. Maybe they didn’t like that she was Catholic. Maybe they didn’t like that some of her congressional representatives needed a translator. She knew the states all thought she was stupid. 

She’s endured worse than just simple disrespect, and if it were a matter of anything else, she would just let it go. But this wasn’t just a point of pride or something. Being a state wasn’t just an empty title. 

Statehood equaled the right to vote. 

For her. For her citizens. In national elections and in Congress. 

Statehood meant being heard. It was worth fighting for. And until then, she refused to let the territories get trampled over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes: People living in the states notoriously know less than nothing about the territories. For example, Americans: there are currently five populated U.S. territories. Puerto Rico is one of them. Name the other four. 
> 
> New Mexico was denied statehood for a whole 66 years, and the general consensus among historians is that it was because the territory was viewed as being “foreign.” There were very few white people living there at the time, and one time they elected a man who only spoke Spanish and no English as their nonvoting congressional representative. One congressman described New Mexicans as “a race speaking an alien language.” The New York Times described them as “the heart of our worst civilization… with all the signs of ignorance and sloth.” 
> 
> After WWII, there was an explosion of scientific research there and New Mexico came to have a higher percentage of PhDs than any other state. It has since become a center for atomic research and nuclear missile testing. So eventually she becomes a nuclear physicist and gets to prove everybody wrong about her beyond a shadow of a doubt… in eighty years from when this fic takes place. The others do sort of come around before then and New Mexico becomes the 47th state in 1912, one of the last ones ever added. 
> 
> I’m having the New Englanders in here be the voice of the Radical Republicans. New England was definitely the voice of the far left before the Civil War (and just in general throughout history, ie. leading the revolution against the colonial system. Fight the power!), and while I don’t have any source that explicitly says that trend continued right after, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that it did. 
> 
> The Northern public didn’t know how exactly they were going to go about it, but they did know they wanted to see the South punished. 
> 
> Vermont was talking about the St. Albans Raid. Some Confederates escaped a POW camp in Illinois and fled to Canada, eventually consolidating in Quebec and coming up with a plan to sneak across the border and rob some banks. They did just that, also shooting when people laughed and thought they were joking at first, but no, they seriously were trying to seize the town. Then they ran away to Canada again and got arrested, which put the government of Quebec in an awkward position, because they weren’t sure to treat it as an act of war or just regular bank robbery. 
> 
> It’s debatable as to why exactly they did that, but there’s three possible explanations: 1—an effort to divert Union troops away from the frontlines, 2—revenge for how the North treated Southern prisoners, or 3—the Confederacy was just really broke and desperately strapped for cash, so these soldiers were helping out in any way they could. Which is possibly the most ridiculous solution to national debt there ever was, just straight-up robbing other countries. 
> 
> They got away with $200,000, equivalent today to $3,117,284.49. 
> 
> Statistically, Massachusetts uses profanity second least of all states, after Washington. Ohio uses it the most. There’s a map of that floating around somewhere. 
> 
> There were four border states in the Civil War that sent large numbers of troops to both sides. I’ll get more into that later. 
> 
> There was an official surrender ceremony three days after the negotiations at Appomattox where the Confederates stacked their rifles and battle flags. 
> 
> The Dakota Territory was originally really weird shaped and included a lot more land than the states ended up keeping. At this point in time, the most logical division of it would east and west.


	4. Truth or Dare

The Army of the Cumberland had appropriated one of the casemates. Crates were moved and blankets were strung in order to create the illusion of three additional walls. They had got their hands on an old inventory sheet and stuck it to the “wall” facing the green, having used the back of the parchment to write: 

RULES: 

  1. No little kids allowed!! 


  1. No talking about the war 



The handwriting was barely legible, the parchment was covered with ink spots, and a number of the words were misspelled, but it served its purpose. And schooling was only designed to make children able to read the Bible. Nothing more was necessary in life; that was the endgoal of education. A few misspellings were natural and expected, even at their age. 

On day one of the clubhouse’s existence, it had just included the Army of the Cumberland. On day two, it had attracted the rest of the Midwestern states, which had resulted in a scandal and a scolding when Minnesota was deemed a little kid and sent away in tears. 

After they apologized for making her cry, they still refused to let her in though. 

On day three, Missouri knocked hesitantly on arch support. “Can I come in?” 

“Who is it?” 

“Missouri.” 

The states looked between each other, uncertain. 

“We can’t let a Southerner in here!” Illinois hissed in a whisper. 

“He isn’t a Southerner, he’s in the Midwest, same as all of us,” Indiana said. 

“But he was a Confederate,” Wisconsin said. 

Ohio shrugged. “He quit, though. He’s a reformed Confederate.” 

“I don’t care if he’s reformed, we can’t be friends with any _Confederate_ ,” Michigan said the word as if it was a curse. 

“But aren’t we supposed to be nice to them now?” Iowa asked. 

There was some more muffled whispering, and then the curtain entrance was flung back. 

“You can come in, but we reserve the right to kick you out if you start acting like a ratbag,” Illinois said. 

Missouri smiled and trotted in, taking a seat on one of the bunks. 

The casemate was roomier than you would expect, containing four wide, short bunk beds. The eight states were scattered in a loose circle, some lounging on lower bunks, some on the floor, some (Michigan) hanging off an upper bunk. 

“We’ve been playing truth or dare, and you’re behind, so you have to take a turn,” Indiana said. 

“Okay,” he said, even though that logic was somewhat sketchy, given that he just got there and there was no points system to be ‘behind’ in. “I choose dare.” 

Indiana leaned back, trying to think of a good dare. His eyes wandered around, looking for inspiration. Suddenly, he grinned. 

“I dare you to eat that bug,” he pointed at a cockroach who had been minding its own business and scittering across the grimy prison floor. 

Missouri looked appalled. 

“You gotta do it. You gotta eat the bug,” Ohio said. 

“Don’t be a pigeon-livered meater, Gale. Eat the bug,” Illinois said. 

“Eat the bug! Eat the bug!” began the chant. 

Cringing, Missouri picked up the cockroach and popped it in his mouth. It crunched and squelched at the same time. He gagged swallowing it, swearing he could feel legs or antennae tickling his throat on the way down. 

The states whooped and cheered approval. 

“Now you get to pick someone!” 

He felt like vomiting. “Uhh… Iowa. Truth or dare?” 

“Truth.” 

“Pansy,” Michigan said. 

Missouri thought for a minute. “Have you ever… had a crush on a human?” 

“Ew, no! Gross!” he said. 

“Gross? They’re just humans. We’re almost exactly like them,” Ohio said. 

“No, ‘gross’ the idea of a crush. I don’t wanna get cooties. You know what happened to Alabama.” 

“Cooties aren’t real. You know that, right?” Kentucky asked. 

“Sounds like something someone who has cooties would say,” Iowa regarded him suspiciously. 

Kentucky turned to the other states he had fought with. “I still say ten-year-olds should count as little kids.” 

“Hey!” Wisconsin protested—the only other state who would be affected by that change. 

“Whatever, Kentucky. You’re a ratbag. It’s my turn to choose someone, and I pick Wisconsin. Truth or dare?” 

“Eh… Truth.” 

“If you had to punch one person in this room in the face, who would it be?” 

“Illinois.” 

She blinked. “That was awfully fast.” 

Wisconsin shrugged. “You were the obvious choice.” 

Illinois glared at him. “If you ever tried to punch me in the face, I would win that fight so hard that you would never be able to show your face at a state meeting again.” 

He laughed. “Wanna bet?” 

“Hey, let’s get back to the game,” Indiana said, intervening. Subtly. 

“…Kentucky. Truth or dare?” 

“Truth,” he said. 

“What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you?” 

He knew he should have picked dare. He had been so close to doing it, but he also knew how purely sadistic the states could make this game, just for the fun of it. Missouri had been lucky to get something relatively harmless on his first go-around. Indiana must have been out of ideas. 

His face brightened. “You all have to swear never to tell anybody first.” 

“Well duh, we aren’t gonna tell anybody. That was understood,” Michigan said. 

“No, it’s a good idea to make it official. And that should go for everything. Nobody is allowed to tell anybody else about what is said or done in here, especially if it’s embarrassing or could get us in trouble. Agreed?” Ohio asked. 

There were nods all around. “And anyone who is a blabbermouth gets kicked out for eternity and shunned by all the others,” Indiana added. 

“Shunned?” Iowa asked. 

“It means a group of people all refuse to even talk to one specific person,” Illinois supplied. 

“Tell us the story already!” Wisconsin said. 

“Alright,” Kentucky said, wiping his palms across his trousers. “So Georgia took me and Alabama to church with her one Sunday, right? And I was sitting next to Alabama. I didn’t know it at the time, but that was the dumbest decision I ever made. Little bugger was not paying attention _at all_ , and he had somehow got his hands on this fake handlebar mustache. Every time he was sure no one else was looking, he would put it on and make _this face,_ I swear, it was the funniest thing. I was trying so hard not to laugh, and eventually I just refused to look his direction, but even then I could feel him staring at me with that stupid expression on his face.” 

“So what? You laughed in church and people stared at you or something? _That’s_ the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to you?” Indiana asked. 

“No,” he said. “No, I peed my pants in church.” 

The states laughed, a few gasping or exclaiming. 

“That’s so gross! How come Alabama never told anybody?!” 

“Georgia gave him the chewing out of a lifetime. Took his mustache away, too,” he said. “Anyway. Missouri. Truth or dare?” 

“Truth,” he said instantly. 

“Uhhh… I don’t know. What’s the biggest lie you ever told?” Kentucky shrugged. 

Missouri paused. “Can I change my answer? I want a dare.” 

“No, it’s too late. You have to answer the question,” Michigan said. 

“Whatever it is, none of us are gonna tell anybody. We all promised,” Illinois said. “Don’t worry. You won’t get in trouble.” 

“Alright,” Missouri breathed out. “Alright. The biggest lie I ever told? ‘There is no personification for Kansas.’” 

The room fell silent. 

“So… so during the war, during Bleeding Kansas, you—“ 

“Rule number two,” Missouri said, “no talking about the war.” 

Michigan glared at him, and Illinois appraised him warily. Most of the other states simply looked shocked. Iowa was rigid in his seat, eyes wide. 

“Uh, Wisconsin.” 

“D… Truth,” he said cautiously. 

“What’s the worst thing you ever did?” Missouri asked. His lie wasn’t that bad. Everybody lied. They just needed to see that. Everybody had done bad things during the war, on both sides. Everybody kept secrets. Everybody had skeletons in the closet. They just needed to see that. 

“K-kill people?” he asked. “Michigan. Truth or dare?” 

“Dare!” She dropped off the top bunk, landing in the middle of the circle. “What’re you gonna have me do?” She was practically bouncing with excitement. 

“Give her something super hard,” Ohio said. “Make her challenge Texas to a duel.” 

“Or maybe we don’t do that,” Kentucky said. 

“No, I got an idea,” Wisconsin said. “Michigan, I hereby dare you to ride bareback on New Mexico’s mustang.” 

* * *

 

“She’s gonna die,” Ohio said. The states were waiting around just outside the stable. Michigan was inside, quietly speaking to the horse and getting it used to her presence. “She’s actually going to die.” 

New Mexico had a penchant for wild things and dangerous hobbies. They all knew that horse would be as unbroken as possible while still being ridable. It was the largest creature in the stable, tall and proud and strong, with a jet black mane and a reddish brown coat. It was snorting and energetic, displeased with being cooped up. 

“I dunno,” Indiana said. “I think she might actually pull it off.” 

Ohio scoffed. “Wanna bet?” 

“One dollar,” Indiana said. 

“You’re on!” Ohio said. This was great—now he could watch Michigan fail and make a decent amount of money off it, too. 

“Hey, Michigan! You ever gonna get on that horse, or are you gonna keep us waiting all day?” he called. 

She shot him a glare. Cautiously, heart hammering in her ears, she opened the gate to the stall and approached the horse, cooing softly. 

“That’s right, good horsey. Nice and easy there. Good girl. Or boy. Let’s just stay nice and calm, shall we?” She slowly swung herself up onto the horse, with a bit of awkwardness and fumbling due to height. 

Her fists clenched around the reins until her nails were digging into her palms. Her boots didn’t have spurs on them, but the horse didn’t need much encouragement to move. 

He eased out of the stable, going pretty slowly. Michigan began to relax. This wasn’t a wild and untamed horse. He wasn’t unbroken. It didn’t take an experienced broncobuster like New Mexico to be able to ride him. Sure, maybe the horse wasn’t following her direction at all and was just going wherever it felt like, but at least it was allowing her to stay on its back. 

And that was good enough. 

She smirked riding past her drop-jawed friends. This was great! She could totally be a broncobuster herself if she wanted to be. 

“This was an easy dare,” she called out. “Next time give me a real challenge!” 

She directed the mustang to head back to the stables, but it refused. It had by now realized that it was out on a fairly large open plain, and without its regular rider. It sped up to a canter, running wild, completely ignoring any attempts at guidance from the small state on its back. 

Michigan pulled on the reins, trying to redirect the mustang towards the stable, or at least hold him back a bit and slow him down. The horse seemed more annoyed by her attempts at direction than anything, and tried to buck her off. 

“Whoa!” she yelled, flying up off its back a bit before falling back down. Her hold transferred from the reins to around its neck, giving her a face full of mane and a better grip. 

The horse reared up violently, neighing, and Michigan began slipping to the side without a saddle to hold on to. The mustang was running now, completely uncontrollable, and fear crept its way inside her looking at those massive, pounding hooves. She fell even farther to the side. She scrambled, trying to use her leg to essentially pull and kick her way back up. 

The horse had officially had enough of the little creepy-crawly on its back, and bucked hard, flinging her through the air to slam into a column of the rampart and yelp, crumpling to the ground. 

“Michigan!” 

The states sprinted across the green to their fallen friend. She was sitting up, wincing, clutching her arm with blood starting to seep through the sleeve. 

“Are you okay? Should we go get someone?” Wisconsin asked. 

“No!” she said. “It’s just a broken arm. Blocked my head from hitting the column, at least. If we tell anybody, we’ll get in serious trouble. And didn’t we _just_ make a rule against that?” 

“Your arm, though,” Missouri said. 

“It wasn’t inflicted by another personification. It’ll be healed in twenty minutes,” she waved off his concern. 

“You owe me a dollar,” Ohio turned to Indiana. 

“What? No! You bet me that she would die. She’s still breathing,” Indiana said.

“You guys bet on my life?” 

“No, we bet on a pass/fail basis. You said she would pull it off, which clearly, she did not. Fork it over, Indy.” 

Indiana glared for a moment, then accepted defeated and dug four quarters out of his change purse. 

“Hey,” Illinois said. “What’re we gonna do about the horse?” 

The mustang was now on the exact opposite side of the green, still wearing the bridle and definitely not locked in its stall where New Mexico had left it. 

“There’s no way anyone can prove it was us who let him out, right?” Indiana asked. 

“I don’t think so…” Kentucky said. 

“That makes it simple enough,” Illinois said. “We were never here.” 

The eight of them stared off at the distant galloping mustang. It would no doubt take hours to wrangle him back into his stall. 

“Goodbye, devil-horse,” Michigan said. “You’re someone else’s problem now.” 

* * *

 

“I choose Ohio,” Michigan said back at the clubhouse, eyes boring holes into him. 

He held his chin up. “Dare. I ain’t a meater.” 

“I dare you to challenge Texas to a duel.” She threw his own words back at him. 

“That’s a terrible idea,” Missouri said. 

“Yeah, well, it was _Michigan’s_ terrible idea. I just want everyone to remember that,” Ohio stood up, heading towards the mess hall that Texas had taken to haunting now that they were no longer restricted to the casemates. 

Him, Louisiana, and Mississippi were sitting at a table playing poker together when the entirety of the Midwest approached them, Ohio at the head. 

“Texas,” he spoke confidently, unwavering, “I hereby challenge you to a duel.” 

“What brought this on all of a sudden?” he asked. He hadn’t even done anything to Ohio, not that he was aware of. He had been in plenty of duels before, and wasn’t exactly surprised when he got challenged anymore, but usually he at least knew why someone wanted to fight him to the death. They were usually very justified, but he could not think of a single thing he had done to deserve Ohio’s rage. 

“Michigan dared me to.” 

Ah, there it was. That cocky smirk on his face, finally explained. He knew Texas would have to turn down the challenge. He knew he was untouchable. The North would never allow a Southerner to shoot one of their own. Maybe he wasn’t locked up in a casemate anymore, but his hands were still tied due to politics. 

But man, what he wouldn’t give to wipe that look off that goddamn kid’s face. 

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s do this right now. You got your gun on you?” 

Ohio paled. “N-no.” 

“Then go get it. Meet me out on the green in five minutes.” 

“I—but… Aren’t duels supposed to take place at high noon? So the sun isn’t in anybody’s eyes? It’s past noon, it wouldn’t be fair to do it right now, we should wait ‘til tomorrow.” 

“It’s one o’clock. I think that’s close enough.” He got up, chair screeching backwards and a few of the Midwesterners recoiling. He poked a finger to Ohio’s chest and threatened, “You, me, the green. Five minutes.” 

A tense moment stretched on before the younger teens turned and meekly left. Ohio looked like he was heading towards the gallows. 

“You can’t shoot that kid,” Louisiana said. 

“Oh? And why not?” 

“Because the North will rain down hell on you and you know it,” she said. “We’re on precarious footing as is. Don’t make the situation even worse because of your ego. You have to miss.” 

“Shooting to miss is against the rules. And why should I? _He_ challenged _me._ I can’t be held accountable for his bad decisions. I barely account for my own bad decisions,” he said. 

Louisiana studied him. “You better hope and pray that the North only decides to punish you and not all of us, else there’ll be hell to pay. I’m not gonna help you out on this one, Tex. You’re digging your own grave here.” 

He took a sip of his whiskey and grinned. “I’m not the one who’s about to die, Lou.” 

* * *

 

“It’s not like it’s an actual battle, right?” Ohio asked. He was looking a bit manic. “The war is over. I can’t die for real unless it’s in a war. Even if I do get shot—even _if_ —I’ll just heal right up and it’ll be perfectly fine.” 

Wisconsin tilted his head. “But the surrender just happened a few days ago. The news probably hasn’t reached everybody yet. There’s probably still outlying skirmishes going on. Does the war ‘end’ when a treaty is signed or when the fighting stops?” 

Just then, Texas sauntered out onto the green, a pistol holstered on each hip. His hat cast a shadow over his face, which was mostly obscured with a handkerchief anyway—something completely unnecessary in this climate, but it sure did wonders for his intimidation factor. 

He looked every bit the part of a seasoned gunslinger. 

Louisiana was trailing behind him, the reluctant observer, first aid kit in hand. 

“Goodbye, Ohio.” 

“It was nice knowing you.” 

“You’re gonna die.” 

Ohio nodded subconsciously. Nothing felt real. This couldn’t be real. “Indiana, will you be my second?” 

“Sure.” He took his gun from him, along with powder and bullets, to go meet Louisiana in the middle, who was doing the same for Texas. 

The seconds watched each other load, each making sure the other only put in a single bullet. 

“Your friend is an idiot,” Louisiana said. 

Indiana shot her a look. “So is yours.” 

She shrugged. “Yeah. But at least he didn’t risk his life on a dare.” 

“Texas should have refused to duel.” 

“What, and get posted? No. Ohio shouldn’t have issued a challenge he wasn’t prepared to carry through on.” 

“Pos—“ 

“Are you two done yet? I’ve got a duel to fight!” Texas yelled. 

“In a minute!” Louisiana bit back. 

“How are they firing?” Indiana asked. 

“By word of command. I’ll give it,” she stalked off. This whole thing was a joke. The sooner they got it over with, the better. 

“Distance is seventy-five feet!” Ohio called out. 

Texas chuckled. “Coward.” 

Challenger picked the distance, challenged picked the weapon. Texas had naturally chosen a smoothbore pistol. It would take either impeccable accuracy or sheer blind luck to make that shot with that weapon at that distance. 

“On three,” Louisiana said. She, Indiana, and the other states were standing a safe distance away, at a right angle to the shooters. “One…” 

A mob of older states burst out of the rampart, storming across the green, pace quickening when they saw the situation. 

“Texas! What in God’s name is wrong with you?” Pennsylvania demanded. 

“Two…” 

Illinois narrowed her eyes. How could they have possibly found out about this? They wouldn’t get here in time to stop it, but still… 

Ah, there. Mississippi was among the Northerners, eyes wide and fearful. 

That little snitch. 

“Three!” 

_BANG! BANG!_  

A bullet whizzed harmlessly past Texas and Ohio dropped like a stone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added 19th century insults and interstate rivalries, I think it improved things greatly. 
> 
> ratbag—generic insult, a weirdo or rule-breaker 
> 
> Pigeon-livered—cowardly 
> 
> Meater—coward 
> 
> $1 in 1865-- $14.20 in 2017 
> 
> In Alabama it is illegal to wear a fake mustache that causes laughter in church. 
> 
> Duels used to be a staple of American culture. Men from all walks of life engaged in them, unlike in Europe, where it was typically limited to the upper class. Any insult could result in a challenge to a duel. People with controversial opinions got involved in them all the time (aka politicians, lawyers, newspaper editors). The place with the highest concentration of duels was the area of Maryland just outside DC. Duels were banned in Washington, so all the angry politicians would just take a quick carriage ride into Maryland, shoot at each other, and then ride back to DC. It’s a lot easier to argue a point on the house floor when your main opponent is dead. 
> 
> Partisan tensions have gone down a lot since then. 
> 
> Duels were particularly common in the South, and they were taken a lot more seriously there. In general, refusing to duel was highly uncommon and would get you marked as a coward for life. It was a grave dishonor. You absolutely did not turn down a challenge. 
> 
> The South took it several steps further. If someone refused a duel, they would be “posted.” A formal declaration of their cowardice would be printed in the newspaper, hung up in public areas around town, passed around on pamphlets, etc. It would usually contain the worst string of insults imaginable. In a time and culture where honor is everything, that was pretty much the worst thing that could happen to you. 
> 
> People would willingly walk into a gunfight they had every chance of dying in rather than be posted. 
> 
> Dueling came with a strict code of 25 rules. They were originally written by some Irishmen in 1777, but later an Americanized version was published with some changes. The original goal of duels was to settle disputes, and the purpose of seconds was to encourage the duelers to do this as peacefully as possible. After every round fired, they would be encouraged to reconcile. The duel only ended when either someone died or “honor was satisfied”—mostly through formal apology. It was actually pretty rare to die in a duel. Usually the fear would peak and someone would give in and apologize, or someone would get injured and concede defeat, or occasionally someone would get weirded out by the idea of repeatedly firing at a person they had already wounded. 
> 
> Smoothbore pistols were crap for accuracy. Making a 100 foot kill shot was considered a feat and near-miracle. They were also the most common, everyman weapon for American duels. They misfired a lot and were very effective at manufacturing nonviolent gunfights. 
> 
> Technically, the challenge should have been issued and accepted through proxy of the seconds, but I wrote it more informally because Ohio wasn’t expecting it to turn into a real duel. 
> 
> Duels used to be a very regular thing, despite legislators’ best efforts. Most men would be in at least one in their lifetime, and some almost made careers out of it. Some cities in the South had on average a duel once every day. They started to decline in popularity around the time of the Civil War. The public began seeing them less as an honorable way to settle disputes and more as an excuse for cold-blooded murder. 

**Author's Note:**

> Historical notes: The Confederacy did not have one single army, but multiples, based in different regions. The Army of Northern Virginia was the main fighting force however, and did the brunt of the work. The name is a bit misleading; it was actually Virginia & Co. While things aren’t actually so neat and clean and with clear rules saying people from X state always served in Y army, I did try to be as accurate as possible when determining where each state would have served. I put Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia in the Army of Northern Virginia. Georgia doesn’t show up in this chapter because of reasons you’ll find out later. 
> 
> Also the only Union states in this chapter are ones that would have been in the Army of the Potomac, which was the North’s main fighting force and contained almost all of them. 
> 
> It’s hard not to write the states constantly cussing each other out, but f*ck wasn’t even coined until the 1950s, so I have to get a bit more creative when coming up with their insults. Which I am bad at. 
> 
> Virginia throws Bible verses in Pennsylvania’s face because Pennsylvania is the Quaker state founded by deeply religious pacifists and she stayed that way for centuries. Even today Pennsylvania has a large Amish population. So using her faith against her would be the quickest way to get under her skin. 
> 
> I know it seems like almost every state is a girl, but I actually have a perfect split of each gender, I swear. It’s just a coincidence that most states that appear in this chapter are female. I think I subconsciously made the more influential/historically significant ones girls for the most part. Consider it the flip side of the coin to what Hima did. 
> 
> The Confederacy surrendered on April 9th, 1865. The Army of Northern Virginia was the last to fall, but their troops were starving and on the retreat. They got surrounded by a Union force 100,000 soldiers stronger than they were outside the Appomattox Courthouse. Lee sent a note to Grant, and they met in a private home to discuss what ended up being extremely generous terms. Grant also sent three days’ worth of food to Lee’s troops, who had absolutely nothing at the moment. I wrote Virginia’s starvation as being more acute than the Carolinas’ because things in Virginia sucked so much the Richmond was having bread riots and protests over all food and resources being diverted to the troops. Most of the other Southern states are in varying degrees of starvation/malnutrition just due to the Confederacy’s famously inadequate supplies, which was a perpetual struggle throughout the war but got really bad towards the end. 
> 
> That comment about New York being a snake is in reference to Vermont and Delaware being conquered by him at different points in history. The settlement of what is now Delaware was originally called New Sweden, then for a while it was absorbed by New Netherland—now called New York. Around the time of the American Revolution, Vermont declared herself to be an independent nation—only problem was, they couldn’t get New York to recognize it. Vermont actually hated New York so much they sent an appeal to England asking to be readmitted into the British Empire because literally anything would be better than being New York’s “underling.” 
> 
> The states have had wars against each other before. It’s really a thing of the past, and except for the Civil War, it was always one-on-one. 
> 
> There are lots of US territories that never made it to statehood. There’s been eighty-five total, I think. I researched it one time but I’m not sure how accurate that was because I didn’t know nothing about nothing back then. Anyway that means that 41.2% of territories die. 
> 
> I’m portraying Virginia as the de facto leader of the Confederacy because that’s honestly how it went down. Even before the war, Virginia was pushing for the removal of US forts and troops from seceded states because they no longer had any authority there, and apparently a delegate to the president said Virginia would secede within 48 hours if someone fired on Fort Sumter, and then /allegedly/ Lincoln tried to bargain evacuating the fort if it would mean that state not meeting to vote on secession. Then Fort Sumter was attacked and literally the day the news broke, Virginia had a secession convention. As soon as they seceded, the Confederate capital was instantly moved to Richmond so they would only have to exert extra effort defending one city instead of two, because everyone knew that if Virginia fell, then they all would. The majority of Civil War battles were fought within this state. It held all the Confederacy’s most industrialized cities and breadbasket. Virginia is home to the US Marine Corp headquarters, and was a major political leader during the colonial and Antebellum era. They were a powerhouse… until the Civil War.


End file.
